Embracing the Beast
by Llenorion
Summary: The Beauty and the Beast Inspired AU where Steve is a street punk turned struggling writer, Fury is the cryptic head of staff who keeps checking his watch, and Bucky is an angry PTSD ridden veteran with a missing arm and ruined dreams. (FULL SUMMARY INSIDE)
1. The Job Offer

Summary: Five years ago the heir to Barnes Genetics returned home from war after being tortured for several months. Among the citizens he was considered the 'Prince of New York' due to his wealth, charm, and adoration of the upper and lower class who lived there. Once a charming, reckless, musically gifted young man, the Prince had become a recluse at his large home in the Hamptons. Rumors spread that he had been disfigured and lost his mind. For five years the Prince had refused to speak to anyone other than his close staff. Until last week when freelancing journalist Steve was presented the opportunity by a cryptic guy with an eye patch write the Prince's story. What Steve initially saw as a chance to launch his career would become a search for redemption, love and hope.

OR: The Beauty and the Beast Inspired AU where Steve is a street punk turned struggling writer, Fury is the cryptic head of staff who keeps checking his watch, and Bucky is an angry PTSD ridden veteran with a missing arm and ruined dreams.

* * *

 _Rap. Rap._ Steve knocked lightly on the glass door with the glossy writing that said _Editor_. Steve couldn't help the twitch in his hands as the adrenaline surged through him. Getting summoned like this was always nerve racking.

"Come in."

Steve walked in and hastily took a seat in one of the leather sling back chairs in front of the desk piled with various articles. There was a tall dark skinned man in the corner in a crisp black suit, black shirt and shiny black shoes. Even the eye-patch covering one eye was black.

"Ah Rogers! So good to see you." Steve highly doubted that. Richard Brooke was an imposing, balding man in his mid-fifties who had never been very happy to see anyone and whom no one was every very happy to see if Brooke's three divorces and lack of children were anything to go by. He looked less pleased to have the stranger hanging around his office.

"I have a very lucrative job offer for you. Or I should say this gentlemen here has a job offer for you." The man barely looked up at Steve, continuing to shuffle some papers around on his desk.

The man in the corner took his cue, walking over to Steve and giving him a firm handshake.

"It's a pleasure Mr. Rogers. My name is Nick Fury. Now, it's been a few years but I'm sure you remember hearing about all the commotion surrounding the return of James Barnes?"

"Of course, Sir." Who couldn't remember that? The return of the 'Prince of New York' from months of torture had been a major story for months after his return. Even five years later periodic stories were released speculating on what the reclusive heir to Barnes Genetics had been up too. Rumors had spread that he had lost his mind or was disfigured and couldn't be allowed into socialized public anymore. Nobody had gotten so much as a press release out of his estate only adding to the mystery and drama.

"Good. Now. I wish to extend the opportunity of employment to write a book about his time in Iraq. We are quite keen on providing you alone with this opportunity." Brooke shot him a glower, no doubt irritated that such an exclusive was being handed off to some freelance journalist with practically no experience.

"Sir?" Steve hazarded the question, "Why me specifically? The last article I wrote was about cop corruption in Odessa. It was hardly the big times. Wouldn't Rumlow be better suited for something like this?" As much as he hated to admit it, Brock Rumlow was a popular journalist who focused on high profile political and military issues. He had taken down senators with his work.

"Don't bother Rogers." Brooke interjected before Fury could respond. "Rumlow would've been the obvious candidate. He was here just a few minutes ago asking me to try to change Mr. Barnes' mind. Yet even my influence didn't seem to sway the vote." Brooke shot Fury a dark look expressing just how put out by that he was. His influence and connection had probably always gotten him exactly what he wanted.

Fury shot an annoyed look at Brooke over the interruption. Looking back at Steve he was all professionalism again. "So, are you in or out?"

Brooke probably hoped he would say 'out' but if Steve was honest this was just the sort of break he needed for his career. Such a high profile book would allow him the opportunity to work on whatever stories he wanted. He hardly hesitated when he gave his answer.

"I'm in."

Sure enough, Brooke's mouth tightened in displeasure.

"Wonderful." Fury handed Steve a sealed manila envelope stamped with an unfamiliar seal. "Everything you need to know about the job should be in that envelope. I should make you aware that this assignment starts a week from tomorrow, could last several months and that for the duration of the assignment you will be living on the premises of Barnes' estate in the Hamptons. Any questions?"

"No sir."

Fury nodded, pleased. "Good. I'll see myself out. We are huge fans of your work." He stalked out of the room, not sparing Brooke another look. Steve was a bit thrown by the abrupt exit, staring after the man. His work? Steve was proud of his work but it had hardly made large headlines.

"Rogers." Steve jumped at the noise and turned back to look at Brooke, who looked as though he had just swallowed a lemon. "I suppose congratulations are in order. Enjoy the vacation and don't fuck this up. Now get out, and shut the door behind you on the way out." Brooke waved him off with a hand, returning to the towering pile of work in front of him.

Steve nodded jerkily and made a quick exit, shutting the door behind him. Steve had almost made it to the elevator without incident when he spotted Rumlow in his crisp navy suit leaning against the hall, a slight furrow in his brow the only sign he wasn't as relaxed as he tried to come off.

"Rogers. How goes it?"

"Rumlow." Steve stalked past the man, trying to avoid a confrontation with the pompous man.

"Oh don't be like that Rogers! You're not still bitter over that article nonsense are you princess?" Steve froze, teeth clenching at the comment. He hadn't even had ten seconds to really process his new assignment and he had old sores thrown in his face.

Steve glared sharply over his shoulder at the smirking, dark-haired man.

"It's a bit hard to get over someone who was supposed to be a friend completely stabbing you in the back." It had been two years and Steve wasn't proud of how the memory still stung and incited him to want to commit violence. He pushed at the buttons on the elevator willing it to open.

"Come now Stevie. It was my chance for a big break. You can't fault me for that. Besides. It's all worked out from what I understand. Got the keys to the biggest story of the decade in that little envelope." Rumlow was definitely bitter about being passed up for Steve. Steve couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction at the thought. He couldn't believe he had ever considered this man a close friend. _Ding_ Finally. Steve stepped into the crowded elevator but couldn't help shooting a last minute jibe at Rumlow.

"I do, don't I. It sucks doesn't it? The job of a lifetime that you've worked tirelessly for being handed over to someone else. I just can't _imagine_ what that must feel like. See you around Rumlow." The door closed on an agitated Rumlow just before he could make a retort.

He tried to catch his breath and control the bubbling anger the whole way down, ignoring the glances of the others in the elevator. He had more important things to worry about. Like what the hell he was supposed to do about his apartment for the next several weeks?

* * *

"Honey! I'm home." It was an old joke between Steve and his roommate Sam Wilson who had initially bonded over I Love Lucy of all things. It was something they each hid adamantly from their other friends, not needing the onslaught of jokes he was sure they would be due for.

"In the living room!" Came the reply. Steve dropped his keys into the bowl on the table by the entryway of his tiny apartment and shed his jacket on a coat hook as he made his way to the cramp living area where Sam was having a Call of Duty marathon, chip bags strewn everywhere.

"Rough day?" Steve queried softly. Sam tended to only play war games when his group had a particularly bad session at the VA hospital where he worked. Steve had always thought it seemed counter productive for Sam to engulf himself in war games when he'd been reminded of something particularly awful but Sam had claimed that it helped him gain some control over the memories. Steve still wasn't sure how but Sam had always been calmer after several hours of hardcore playing. Steve couldn't begrudge him his methods of coping. Goodness knows his own probably weren't that healthy.

Sam paused the game, eyes unfocused. "Someone brought up the day they lost one of their friends and it just…"

"Riley." Steve surmised.

Sam nodded stiffly, "Yea. Riley." Sam had been back from the war for three years but still got choked up every time Riley was mentioned.

There was silence for a moment before Sam shut off the T.V. and cleaned up a space on the couch next to him. "If you keep standing like that Steve I'm gonna loose it. I'm fine. Really, pal. Now, how'd that interview go?" Sam was itching for a diversion and Steve was happy to give it to him.

"I saw Rumlow."

"Oh. Damn. Sorry, man. How'd that go?" Sam was only of the only people who knew the extent of the drama surrounding him and Rumlow.

"Alright, I guess? I got offered a job he really wanted so I can't help feeling a bit vindicated, even if I did almost sock him in the middle of a hallway outside the editor of the _New York Times'_ office."

"He'd have deserved it." Sam's expression was dark. If they ran into Rumlow in a back alley Steve wasn't sure which of them would start swinging at him first.

"Whats this about a job though? Finally gonna have some extra cash to do that boy's weekend in Vegas?" Sam perked up at the prospect, eyebrows waggling. He had been bugging Steve to let loose and let Sam take him to Vegas for a weekend of debauchery. Apparently, Steve was too tightly wound to know what fun was if it bit him on the nose.

"Sorry pal. According to the information they gave me," Steve gestured to the open envelope he'd finally had a chance to look through, "A week from tomorrow, I'm going to be staying on location at the Hamptons for the foreseeable future to write a tell all about a high profile client. Not sure ill be able to help out much with rent in the meantime."

"Don't worry about it. We've got enough rent savings to hold us afloat for a bit. Hamptons huh? Swanky. This sounds like a breaking story. Who is the client?"

"James Barnes." Steve was a bit sheepish. It was still surreal that _he_ of all people was getting the chance to enter an estate no outsider had been allowed into for five years for a career-making interview.

Sam let out a low whistle. "The Prince of New York? Way to bury the lead man! This deserves a drink." He jumped over the back of the couch to grab a couple of beers from the fridge. Steve shook his head, laughing slightly at the exuberant display. He pulled the documents and a small plastic case out of the envelope to look over while he waited for Sam to wander back in with a six-pack and, was that… yep. A large bottle of vodka Steve had thought he'd hidden away was dangling loosely in Sam's grip.

"Oh come on Sam!"

"I don't want to hear it Stevie. This is one of those times you're supposed to get stupidly drunk and wake up with strange boys or girls in your bed. If I didn't know you better I'd already be dragging your ass to a club, but I know I need to get you a bit drunker before I can swing that. It's called _celebrating_ an insane job opportunity." Sam stressed the word celebrating like it was a term Steve had never heard before as he held out the vodka.

Steve considered refusing but eventually accepted the open bottle of vodka and took a swig. Sam had a point. This was a moment to celebrate. He'd go, write the article, come back, and finally have the job of his dreams. It didn't hurt that he'd also have one over on Rumlow.

Over several drinks, Steve filled Sam in on what little he had been able to glean about the job from the folder. A car would be arriving a week from tomorrow to take him to the estate, leaving him little time to pack and get his things in order. He also wouldn't be allowed to bring in any of his own devices and would be provided with encrypted devices when he arrived with which to do his job. The estate, which was right on the waterfront, was surrounded by a surprising amount of land and he wouldn't be able to leave the premises until the job was done. "Paranoid bastard ain't he?" Sam had commented. Steve couldn't help but agree. It was a bit much for a recluse war veteran even one was wealthy as James Barnes. The plastic black box had contained a pass that would let him onto the grounds and access certain rooms.

"Dude. What kind of gig IS this? Sure it's safe? I mean I've heard rumors about the guy Stevie. Things that make lesser men cry. I thought it was all crap but now I'm starting to reconsider my earlier assessment. You sure you want to do this?" Sam was starting to look concerned.

Steve was starting to share similar reservations, glancing over all the disclaimer forms he would need to sign and the tech. This was the chance of a lifetime though. Crazy or not, getting a headline article about the recluse 'Prince' was a major story. Probably even more so if the guy really was crazy.

"Yea… Yes. I'm sure. I can take care of my self Sam." Sam still didn't look sure and just took another swig of beer.

A few hours of drinking later, Sam managed to drag Steve out to a club arguing that it was his last chance to let loose and get laid before months of isolation. Sam had always said it was entirely unfair that Steve was attracted to both sexes and as such drew in so many people when they went out because of his strong, broad shoulders and innocent face leaving Sam the unpleasant ordeal of trying to get a girl to dance with him when Mr. Tall, Hot, and Sweet was standing next to him. Tonight though, Sam was going to get Steve to take advantage of it.

* * *

A week later, Steve found himself standing on the curb with his bags waiting for the town car that was being sent to pick him up and nursing a truly spectacular hangover. On the way out the door this morning, Sam made sure to remind Steve not to be a 'snippy bitch' if the guy was confrontational cause he really wasn't interested in attending his funeral. As if Steve was the kind of person to tell off a POW for being a little moody. Steve had just flipped him off in response with the hand that wasn't clutching a hot cup of coffee like a lifeline. He couldn't believe he'd let Sam talk him into going out last night. Ever since he'd gotten the job Sam had felt it was best to celebrate with going out and drinking. Part of Steve thought it had something to do with Sam trying to get in as much time going out with Steve as he possibly could before he went away for an unknown amount of time.

Regardless, this was so not the first impression he wanted to make with his new employer. He couldn't even remember much about the night before but Sam had told him he'd gotten _very_ lucky with twins from Eastern Europe. Judging by how uncomfortable it was to sit at the moment – this car drive was going to suck – and how he could vaguely remember a dark hallway, feminine curves, a strong chest pressed against his back and sense memories that made his toes curl, Sam wasn't exaggerating. Steve wanted to curl in on himself in embarrassment. It was so unlike him. He really wasn't fond of one-night stands or hook ups and believed in going out a few times before 'sliding into home' so to speak. Sam was thrilled that he finally managed to get Steve to loosen up a bit and had mentioned they'd be having that boy's weekend the second Steve got home.

The approach of a sleek black car broke into his reverie. It looked as though it cost more than three years worth of paychecks. The car stopped in front of him and a man emerged from the driver's side. Everything about him screamed average, even down to the off the rack suit. He was of average height with a receding dark brown hairline and a kind face. Steve wasn't sure what he was expecting from someone who worked for the Barnes estate but it wasn't this.

"Hello Mr. Rogers. My name is Phillip Coulson. I'm a fan of your work."

It was the same thing that Mr. Fury had said to him. The odd thing was they had both seemed so sincere when they said it but it completely threw Steve who had only had a handful of articles published in mostly obscure newspapers.

"Um. Thank you, Mr. Coulson." Steve wasn't sure what else to say.

"Please. Call me Phil. May I grab your bags?" The man was already moving before Steve could answer. The man was stronger than he looked, tossing Steve's heavy bags in the trunk with barely any effort.

Refusing to let Phil open the back door for him, that would be too surreal, Steve opened the passenger door and slid in to the cool leather seat before Phil could voice any complaint.

"Mr. Rogers, it is custom for our guests to ride in the backseat." Phil shot him an amused look as he slid behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. Soft piano music came through the speakers. Steve couldn't place it, but it was beautiful.

"Please Phil, call me Steve. I'm not used to all this fancy stuff. Sitting in the front is fine."

"As long as your comfortable, sir." Steve doubted he was ever going to get the other man to call him by his first name anytime soon.

Comfortable. Not likely.

The drive was two and half hours total under normal circumstances, but the way Coulson was driving Steve hazarded a guess that they would be there in just under two. Steve tried not to squirm too much at the pressure on his backside that was being exacerbated by the quick turns. A half an hour into the drive though, Coulson was obviously aware of the discomfort and seemed to have a fair guess as to what caused it.

"Having trouble sitting, sir? Should I slow down or would you prefer it if we went faster?" Coulson said it with such a straight face that Steve wasn't sure if he was just imagining the double entendre.

"Um.." Steve's face flushed red and he wasn't sure how to reply. There didn't seem to be a right answer to that question. Coulson let out a low chuckle, sparing him from having to respond.

"Don't worry about it, sir. We're all entitled to our private lives. It seemed like you made the most of your last few days of freedom at least."

Steve wanted to crawl under a rock he was so embarrassed. Coulson just kept smirking at him like he could see into the past and knew every detail about what had transpired.

Steve sunk in his seat and threw a hand over face.

This was _definitely_ going to be a long car ride.


	2. James

"We're here sir."

Steve could hardly believe what was seeing. He'd never had much growing up. The apartment he shared with Sam was the most expensive thing he'd ever been able to afford and they lived in a terrible part of New York.

Steve had had to use his pass at a tall gate at the edge of the grounds before they could even pass through onto the property. After driving through several acres of dense trees, they had finally pulled into the secluded drive of a vast, two-story, light blue painted brick estate. The roof was a pale grey. Steve could spot a slightly smaller, but still two-story, guesthouse behind and perpendicular of the main house. Like the main building, it had an outdoor terrace on the second floor. Amongst the hedges circling the homes were several different types of roses.

Steve stepped out of the car on to the smooth pavement, grateful not to be sitting down any longer. He took a long look at the house. Judging by the number of windows he could see there had to be at least a couple dozen rooms.

Fury was waiting for them on the steps just outside the front door with a man he didn't recognize close behind him. The man was a tall, well-muscled, blonde dressed in a crisp white button up and black jeans. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the muscle in his lower arms. He seemed relaxed and was shooting them a wide, friendly grin.

"Nice to see you again Mr. Rogers." Fury greeted him, giving him a short nod. "I'm so glad you were willing to accept the job. Were you able to go through all the documents."

"Oh! Yea, just one sec…." He reached back into the passenger side door to grab the folder he'd dropped on the ground. He ran up and handed it to Fury who pulled out the documents and nodded occasionally as he looked over them.

Steve rubbed his hands on his jeans nervously. He hoped he didn't look too much like he'd spent the night in a club. The blonde haired man just behind Fury was looking at something behind Steve. Before Steve could figure out what it was Fury gave a final nod and put everything back into the envelope.

"Everything here seems to be in order. This man behind me is Clint Barton. He doesn't act like it but he's head of Mr. Barnes' security. As you've probably figured out, I'm his head of staff and Coulson over there is my assistant head of staff and in charge of maintaining the grounds. Anything you need you can come to any one of us."

Steve shot a glance at Coulson who was already pulling his bags out of the trunk. He'd pegged him as just being a driver, nothing as official as second in charge of the estate staff.

"Come on in and we'll give you the tour."

"Sir?" Clint's voice was rough. Fury paused in his step to shoot him a questioning look. "I was thinking I might stay out here and help Phil with those bags. They look awfully heavy."

Fury snorted, shooting Clint an amused glance. "Do whatever you want Barton. I just expect you in my office in," Fury glanced down at his watch, "an hour and a half to go over some of your new assignments."

Clint distractedly nodded his acquiescence, already heading over to the car. Phil paused in his work at his approach, giving him a cheery hello and laughing at some remark Clint made. Steve surmised the two must be good friends.

Fury shook his head, muttering to himself.

Steve followed him into a large white – tiled foyer with a curved staircase off to the left heading to the second floor. He was quiet as Fury showed him around the richly decorated, open floor plan home. Fury pointed out various doors that led to his office, the dining area, and an honest to goodness ballroom - though it looked as if it hadn't had much use lately. He was still processing that one when they wandered into the large kitchen where a small, curvy red haired woman was doing… something… with a bird Steve didn't recognize. She barely looked up at their entrance.

"Rogers, this is Natasha Romanoff. She's the lovely woman who keeps us all fed. I hope you don't have any allergies or aversions to certain animal parts cause she likes to be creative sometimes." Natasha flipped Fury off, telling him something in Russian that just made Fury chuckle.

"It's nice to meet you ma'am." Steve stuck his hand out instinctively to shake. Natasha just stared at him, a flicker of amusement in her eyes, and held up her hands so Steve could see the juices and herbs covering her hands.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Steve flushed.

"Don't worry about it. First impressions are always a tad… drop em Fury." She redirected her gaze to Fury, who was trying to sneak some food. "Lunch should be ready in a couple of hours. You can wait till after your meeting with Clint." She started shooing them out of the kitchen.

"How do you already know about that?" Fury sounded exasperated.

Natasha just shrugged. "I have my ways. Now get out. I need to focus on this new recipe I'm trying."

"Just try not to kill us."

Fury grabbed Steve's shoulders and directed him back out into the hallway towards the living room.

"Lets go Rogers. Plenty more to see."

"Sir? In the packet it said I would need to use my card to get into certain rooms? Also, where will I be sleeping? Upstairs?"

Fury paused, staring Steve down with his one good eye. "You are not to go upstairs unless Mr. Barnes gives you express permission. Is that clear?" Steve nodded quickly. That stare was intimidating.

"Good. Now, you'll notice certain doors on this floor that require key card access. Your card will let you in to the locked doors on the west wing but you are not allowed near the east wing doors. Is that clear?"

"Why, what's there?"

"Look Rodgers, it's forbidden. If you feel like pissing off Mr. Barnes by trying to get in be my guest." That was the last thing Steve was interested in doing at the moment. "Look, that's all you need to know. As for where you're sleeping, you'll be in the guesthouse just behind the main house. I'm sure you'll find it to your liking."

They passed through the large glass doors in the living room that led onto a wrap around porch with white pillars acting as posts. The view from the back porch was stunning. There was a rose garden and large pool in the… Steve wasn't sure what to call it, backyard felt too simple. Steve thought the pool was a touch unnecessary as he could see the waterfront just a half-mile away.

Just as they made it to the guesthouse Fury's phone started going off. He flipped it open and answered with a curt. "Fury." He didn't say anything as he listened to whoever was on the other line but his expression grew irritated. Steve wandered over to the poolside, trying to avoid accidentally eavesdropping.

So far he had only seen four people in the home. The rumors that the 'Prince' kept a short staff seemed overly accurate. It was a bit baffling that they were able to manage such a large estate on their own and keep it so well kept. Fury had mentioned briefly that they had a couple of maids that have worked for the family for years come up once a week.

"Understood." Fury hung up.

"Shit. I need to handle this. Rogers." Steve twisted around to look at Fury who was already heading back inside. "I trust you can figure yourself out from here. We'll have lunch in a couple of hours in the dining room. Mr. Barnes should be present so try and clean yourself up a bit. Hangover is really not a good look."

Steve flushed. He'd been trying so hard not to let it show how hung over he was. He should probably take a shower.

Swiping his key card at the front door, Steve wandered into the slightly cozier but still expansive guest home. Wandering room to room to get himself acquainted he noted a soft leather couch and flat screen in the living area, his own kitchen with a gas stove and modern appliances, and a laundry room. He had everything he needed, apart from groceries. His favorite find was the study on the second floor next to the bedroom. It was full of books and a daybed was set up in the windowsill for reading. He ran his fingers along the spines of the well-worn books. Before Steve became a journalist he had wanted to write novels. As a kid, when things were rough, he used to imagine far off lands where magical things happened and everyone got their happy ending. He even made up his own short stories, drawing the pictures himself. His mother had loved them. During the chaos surrounding her death they'd been lost. Since then he lost the urge to write another novel, bitterly reminded of his mother every time he tried.

Steve shook off the melancholy. He needed a shower. In the bedroom next door, there was a tablet and recorder on the dresser and his bags were placed on slick hardwood floors at the foot of the wardrobe across the room. A set of dark grey low chairs and a glass coffee table were placed in front of a gas fireplace. The bed was a four-poster with deep blue bedding that was silky to the touch and more pillows than any self-respecting man had need for. Steve quickly shed his clothes and stepped into the shower. The water pressure was fantastic. His and Sam's shower back at their New York apartment was leaky with poor pressure and only managed two settings: boiling and freezing. He'd become accustomed to short showers but with the warm pressure on his back he thought he could afford to indulge himself a bit for once.

He lost track of the time he spent under the spray and forced himself to get out when his hands started pruning. Wrapping a fluffy white towel around his waist and using another to dry his hair, Steve wandered back into the room to search through his bags for something presentable. Having utterly failed at all his other first impressions he could at least try and get this one right. He pulled on fitted khakis, a brown belt, and a white v neck t-shirt. After searching through his bags for several moments he finally found a pair of shoes that weren't scuffed.

Fixing his hair in the mirror he could see the red ring around his eyes. The shower had helped; it was less obvious than he was still slightly hung over. Steve stared at his reflection in the mirror, fussing with his hair. He usually didn't care much about his appearance but he felt intimidated by the wealth surrounding him. Apart from Coulson's off the rack suit, the other members of the staff had been dressed in fashionable business casual attire. Even Clint's jeans looked nicer than Steve's best suit. Looking back through his bags he pulled out a blue blazer. It was probably overkill but better safe than sorry.

A glance at the digital clock on the cherry oak bedside table told him he still had about forty-five minutes before lunch. Well... there was time to kill. He might as well look around the main house again.

Retracing his steps in the main house, Steve explored various rooms he'd passed during the tour and tried to make a mental map of them in relation to the ones Fury had shown him. At some point Steve was sure he'd made a wrong turn because he didn't recognize the area of he house he was in. Steve grumbled to himself. This is why nobody needs fifty rooms in one house.

He wandered until he found himself in front of a door with a pad for a key card. Steve pulled his out and swiped it but the blinking light stayed red. He must have somehow wandered over to the east wing. The place Fury had _just_ told him to stay away from. He glanced down at his watch. He had five minutes before he was supposed to meet the others for lunch. If he just walked back the way he came and took the left instead of the right when he got to that one painting…

A sudden grip on his shoulder caught Steve off guard; spinning him around pushing him up against the door he had just tried to get into. Before he could react he had an arm at his throat, pinning him against the door and crushing his larynx.

"What the hell are doing here?" The voice was low and dangerous.

Crap. He was about to get fired on his first day, if whoever this was didn't kill him first. He stared into cold, flint blue eyes that were glaring murderously up at him from under dark furrowed eyes. He tried to respond but the pressure on his throat wouldn't let him form coherent words.

The man snarled at him, releasing just enough pressure to let Steve answer.

"This area of the house is off limits. Now who the _fuck_ are you and why should I let you walk away?"

"Steve." He choked out. "My name is Steve Rogers. I got lost. Could you please let me go? We can go find Fury, he'll clean this whole mess up." Steve wasn't weak by any means, but he would prefer to avoid a fight if he could help it. The man considered him for a moment before stepping back and letting him go. Steve barely had a moment to catch his breath before the man was shoving Steve in front him.

"Walk. Fury better have a damn good reason for an outside agent to be wandering around."

Agent? The hell. Steve tried to look over his shoulder but the man just pushed him forward again yelling at him to 'look front'. It was a tense few minutes as Steve was directed with rough shoves back towards the dining area where Fury, Clint and Coulson were already sitting and Natasha was carrying in several plates from the kitchen.

Natasha was the first to notice, cursing as she dropped the plates on the table and walked slowly towards them with her hands up as if she was calming a spooked animal.

"Easy James. Let him go. He's not here to hurt anyone." Her voice was quiet, soothing.

The man behind him, James, gripped the back of his jacket, shaking him roughly.

"Who is he?"

"He's new. Fury hired him to help you and Bucky. Remember?"

Steve was officially confused. Who was Bucky? James… James Barnes. Was she trying to say that they guy going all commando on him was the man he'd been hired to interview?

"Bucky needs to be protected. You should have cleared him with me before you let him wander around, especially in the east wing. How can I be sure that he isn't a threat?"

"Shit Rogers. I thought I told you to stay out of there." That was Fury, glaring darkly at him. Was now really the time to be giving him hell? Shouldn't they be focusing on handling the guy who had just tried to choke him out?

"Can it Fury." Natasha shot him a look.

"Look." Steve piped up. "I'm just here to do a job. I don't want any trouble." He buckled to his knees at the sharp elbow to his back. This guy was out of control!

He felt warm breath at his ear as James spoke. "You need to shut up. As far as I'm concerned you're trespassing and a threat."

"James. You need to calm down." Natasha was closer now, hands reaching out to grab James at the first chance she got. "Do you remember that conversation we had last week? That someone would be coming to live with us for awhile who was going to help Bucky get strong again so you didn't have to protect him so much."

"I remember…"

Natasha nodded quickly. "Good. That's good. How about you let him go and you and I can go talk this over."

"Fine." Steve felt the man step back and took the chance to back away to the corner of the room. Getting his first good look at the man, he screamed dangerous. Under normal circumstances Steve would have found the short dark hair, high cheekbones and compact form attractive, even with the now obviously missing arm. Instead he couldn't help feeling terrified. He was slighter than Steve but held himself in a way that even with one arm promised he could kill you more ways than you could imagine with barely a thought.

Natasha reached up and gathered his face in her hands muttering to him in Russian. The whole room was still for several moments. Clint and Phil were still sitting at the table but they were tense, ready to move at the slightest provocation. From this angle Steve could see the kitchen knife Clint was palming.

There was a nearly visible shift in the room when James relaxed, all trace of danger diminished. Steve started to relax but clenched up again as the man headed towards him. He seemed like a totally different person; less angry and more open, with a bashful grin on his face.

"Sorry about that man. James is like that with new people. Don't take it personally. He's just protective. My name is Bucky Barnes. I understand you'll be staying with us awhile to try out this crockpot therapy my friends came up with." He shot a wry grin at the others in the room. Steve was getting whiplash. The _hell_ is going on.

"It's nice to meet you."

He stuck his hand out to Steve who just stared in disbelief and started calculating the fastest way back to his little New York apartment.

"Fury. We need to talk."

Steve ignored the outstretched hand and practically ran from the room not bothering to check if Fury was behind him. This was so above his pay-grade.


	3. Subsection C

"I'm sensing there's something you left out of the briefing packet." Steve wasn't even trying to hide the sarcasm as he slammed the door to Fury's office behind him. He thought back to the week before when he'd been so confident he could handle whatever eccentrics Barnes might have but he was so, so wrong. Crazy might make for an interesting story, but Steve was starting to realize it didn't do much for his safety. He was suddenly very aware that he had miles of woods between him and the main road and no car to get him there. He could try to make it to one of the neighbors' estates…

Fury didn't even look chastised at the remark, simply leaned casually against his desk. If anything, the look he was shooting Steve indicated that he thought Steve was the stupid one. "Look. I apologize for the rough treatment you suffered from Mr. Barnes."

You bet your ass you're sorry. Steve's hands clenched at his side, shaking from adrenaline.

"But it wouldn't have been a concern if you hadn't been wandering the east wing after I expressly told you _not_ too." Fury shot him a dark glare

"As for the matter of not filling you in on our first meeting. Which was in the editor of the _New York Times_ office by the way. We can't let it become public record the depths of Mr. Barnes' instability. It attracts certain attention we've been trying to avoid. Having now met him, I would have thought even you could grasp that concept." The funny thing was Steve did get it. Rumors were one thing but actual public knowledge of his instability could damage Barnes Genetics and James'/Bucky's - Steve didn't know what to call him – livelihood and reputation. It didn't change the fact that a former soldier had just mauled him.

"Besides," Fury continued ignoring Steve's glares, "would you have honestly accepted the position if I'd opened with "by the way my employer has DID and can get violent around newcomers who trespass" at our first meeting?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. No. Steve probably wouldn't have. Knowing now he could honestly say this wasn't worth the story. He'd get his break some other way. Right now Steve needed to focus on getting out of there. The man was calm the last time he saw him, but whose to say he would stay that way.

"It doesn't matter. I'm leaving. Find someone else." Steve made for the door to the office.

"You can't." Steve froze.

"Excuse me? I'm not a prisoner. My safety is in question and as such I'm officially resigning the job meaning I no longer have to stay on the premises." Steve was trying to fight back the nagging fear in the back of his head that maybe he was a prisoner. How, in the span of ten minutes, had this gone from a great opportunity to the dumbest idea of his life in which he had no way of contacting _anyone_ for help.

"You should read the fine print a bit better Mr. Rogers. From the moment you signed those disclosures and work forms you agreed unquestionably to the job and its parameters. You also agreed that you would be unable to leave this job unless we let you go without raining a whole pile of legal hell on your ass."

Steve was really getting the urge to punch this man. How was he screwing with Steve's life so casually? "You offered me a job to write a story about a man's time in Iraq. Dealing with an unstable… _beast?_ " It wasn't a kind word but it's the closest thing Steve could think of to describe the dark haired man's behavior. "That was not in the job description."

Fury rolled his eyes and picked up the pile of documents that Steve had handed to him only a few hours before. He flipped quickly through the contracts till he found what he'd been looking for and shoved it in Steve's face.

"I know I'm starting to question it, but I believe you can actually read correct? Section 12 paragraph b subsection c."

Steve grabbed the contract to get a better look at the indicated section.

 _By signing their acceptance of this job, the candidate indicates his/her understanding that the client requires special handling due to former trauma and thus cannot be released nor may they resign themselves from their duties based solely on their inability to cope with any irregularities in the client's behavior. It should be reiterated that the goal of the job assignment is for the candidate to aid the client in coming to terms with the aforementioned trauma._

The hell? Steve really should have finished reading through this instead of going out with Sam every night for the past week. To be fair it was a sixty-page contract and Steve could never have dreamed of this outcome.

"You have _got_ to be _kidding_ me. I'm not a therapist I'm a writer! I'm not exactly trained in helping these sorts of cases." Steve resisted the urge to throw the contract back in Fury's face. He should really look into something to control his sudden bouts of violent urges. "Besides, even if I was, why me? I'm sure any one of you knows him well enough to sit him down and help him out or convince him to actually see a therapist. Why do you need me?"

"Precisely because you don't know him Rogers." It was truly amazing how Fury could inflect so much "you're a dumbass, why do I have to put with you" in just a few words. Steve bristled. It was a legitimate question.

"The reality is his mind was fractured in Iraq. We've spent the last five years trying to counteract the damage." The dark shadow passing Fury's face was the first indication of the so far consistently flippant and stoic man having some sort of emotional stake in the situation. He must really care about him, Steve mused.

"We've been able to cope with certain aspects of the damages but Barnes still has trouble sorting out his mind. After five years we know when to cut our losses and attempt alternative methods. Its been _suggested,_ " Steve really wanted to figure out whose suggestion this was and strangle them. "That as James is the dominant protector, Bucky needs to relive every aspect of his life before and during the war. Figure out what is real. Or at least create a record of his own version of what is real that he can cope with. When remembering gets to be too much he shuts down, looses time, and James, the personality you met earlier comes out to protect him." And that, that right there was just so sad. "If we tried it, he would constantly rely on us to tell him what is and isn't real. He needs a record kept and someone to talk him through it to help him cope and come to grips with what James is protecting him from. Which is where your job comes in Rogers."

"I'm still not a therapist Fury." Steve was desperate to get the other man to understand that. What he'd seen today… only a therapist could help with that.

Fury glowered at him, no doubt irritated at constantly being questioned. He didn't seem like the type of man who liked to be questioned.

"Let me make it clear, since you seem to be having trouble grasping your role in this whole thing. Your job isn't to fix him. He can fix himself; he just needs a little direction. Your job is to help him write his story so he can start to make sense of what is going on his head and we can help him fuse the current fractures in his psyche. I don't give a rat's ass about your training. You just have to talk to the guy."

It was truly inspiring how Fury could make something so insane sound so simple.

"Besides," Fury shrugged, "you'll get one hell of a story out of it by the end. Isn't that what you wanted? To launch your career with an interview with the 'Prince of New York'. Obviously the story will be one that we've approved. Once this is over nobody needs to know just how far off the reservation he went." Steve didn't want to admit it but Fury was right. It was what he'd wanted. He'd been aware of the rumors and had expected Barnes wasn't completely okay. He just hadn't expected it to go like this.

"Look, I'll be honest with you Rogers." There's a change, Steve thought snidely. "This method is a bit unorthodox. Probably won't even work and could be the dumbest idea we've ever had." Steve was fairly positive that would be the case.

" _However_ ,"Fury continued, "We need to try something since Mr. Barnes has a bit of _distrust_ towards therapists at this point and the lot of us haven't been entirely useful in helping him cope." Oh. Judging by the unpleasant twist of Fury's lips there was a definite story there. Steve wondered what could have possibly happened there that they were seeking out the help of a journalist of all things for such an insane hail mary.

"I'm sure it comes as no shock that Mr. Barnes didn't pick you for this job. Not really." Of course he didn't. Steve wasn't surprised, judging by the man's reaction to him. This whole thing felt off and manipulated. "In spite of your current profession, we needed someone we thought he would trust not to exploit him on paper or in his head. You have a reputation of not doing that."

Steve almost threw his hands up in exasperation. He'd started to resign himself to the idea that he wouldn't be leaving any time soon but this… _this_ was getting annoying. "You keep saying that. Mentioning my apparently stellar reputation and noteworthy work. I've had maybe five articles in the last two years posted in mainstream papers. Most of my writing has been on small blogs. I'm still not even sure how I got the last couple of gigs at the New York Times. I mean..."

"Captain America." That froze Steve mid-tangent. How did he… where did he… It took a full minute before Steve could compose any sort of response.

"Wh-where did you hear that name? What do you know about that?"

"I've got my sources Cap. Been following your story for years." Fury was shooting him a shark grin. What the hell did he walk into? Only a few hours ago Steve had been trying to get used to the idea of living in vast wealth and the lengthy process of interviewing an eccentric, billionaire, POW. Everything had been flipped on its head. If Steve had thought he had even the faintest chance of leaving before he sure as hell didn't now.

Captain America. Steve had put that name and the life associated with it behind. However he got the feeling that, however much these people claimed to respect his work – and goodness, those words made so much more sense now – they would have no trouble revealing to the right sources his vaguely vigilante background if he walked out on what they obviously saw as a last ditch effort to save their boss from himself. Steve knew when he was beat.

"Fine. I'll do it. It's insane and will never work but I'll do it." Steve spoke through clenched teeth.

"Oh Rogers, it's cute that you ever thought you had a choice." Fury patted his shoulder as he left the office, leaving Steve to wonder where it all went wrong.

* * *

Natasha was waiting for Fury outside of his office.

"How is Barnes?"

They walked together back towards the kitchen.

"Better. Bucky is settling in all right now. He's asking for Tony though." Fury nodded, making a note to send a message to the man.

"What are his thoughts on our current situation?"

"Seems willing to meet with Steve and make a go of this whole thing. Have I mentioned that I think this idea is stupid and will just blow up in our faces? You know how James is about outsiders." Natasha shot him an annoyed look.

Bucky. James. It was so hard to keep it straight sometimes. Fury preferred to stick to Barnes. It was less messy that way.

"Every day Romanoff, but Barnes has run off every therapist we've tried to bring in here. It was all Coulson's idea, bringing in someone like Rogers with the background and nobility he has as an attempt to get James and Bucky to co-exist. You can blame him if anything goes wrong."

"Oh believe me, I will." Coulson was practically family to her, but the look on Natasha's face promised slow agony if his suggested treatment backfired. Natasha and Clint had become very attached to Bucky since their first meeting six and a half years ago.

"How is our Mr. Rogers?" Natasha asked, changing the subject.

"I had to pull the Cap card." Fury was a bit annoyed that he'd had to pull that one so early.

"Already? How freaked out was he after James' attack?"

"Ready to bolt. To be fair, everyone on the receiving end of the Winter Soldier's intimidation would be. It is unfortunate though. I was hoping to keep that bit of information as a trump when things really get nasty but Rogers was losing it. I had to reign him in."

Natasha snorted in amusement. "He probably thinks you're going to report him if he makes any fuss."

Fury smirked. "That was the idea. Can't have our hail mary running off now can we."

"Seriously though." Fury's brow furrowed. "The situation is getting worse. Now that we've dealt with Hydra's programming and the Soldier is less of a threat on a daily basis, Bucky seems even more content to let him take over." Hydra, the perpetual thorn in Fury's side. They could be thanked for the last five years of relative isolation.

"I know." Natasha looked concerned. Well, as concerned as Natasha could look. "If nothing else, having a stranger in the house will be good. It'll force Bucky to keep James at bay. Hopefully, he can do it long enough to adjust to what ever it is he's trying to block and get strong enough that James will stop dominating him." After five years, it was so odd for Fury to think about Barnes as two separate people.

"All I can say sir, is that Rogers better be the man for the job you and Coulson think he his, because if Rogers screws the pooch on this one Coulson isn't the only person going on my list."

"Understood Romanoff."

The two walked quietly the rest of the way, each lost in thought. Entering the kitchen, Fury snagged a plate of food while Natasha cleaned up. For several minutes the only sounds were of running water and a knife and fork scraping against a plate.

The comfortable silence was broken by Clint's loud laughter just around the corner. Now what are they up to? Fury needed a break. This crazy attempt to fix Barnes better work cause he needed a vacation. Stat.

Clint tumbled into the kitchen, doubled over in laughter and clinging to the long-suffering Coulson to keep him upright. Fury didn't want to know. He wasn't sure how Coulson had been able to put up with Barton for so long. After thirty minutes alone with the guy cracking smart-ass jokes, Fury was always ready to shoot him.

"Stop cackling like a hyena Barton. Don't you have a mission you should be prepping for?" Natasha swatted a dishtowel at Clint who ducked out of the way, nearly missing the corner edge of the counter as he slid into one of the bar stools.

"Ah come on Nat. Don't be like that." He shot her a cheeky grin. "Besides. I checked the leads Fury gave me already with my contacts and they were all bust." Damn. That was fast. Also frustrating. It'd taken a lot of digging to get those leads.

"Looks like your stuck with me a little longer Phil." Clint pulled Phil in between his legs by the belt loop.

"Such a shame." Phil sighed in feigned disappointment. "I was so hoping to catch up on Supernanny while you were gone. Guess I'll have to do something else in my spare time now." Clint smirked up at him, hands moving to cup Phil's ass.

"Oh Phil, I'm sure we can think of something."

Natasha just shook her head, a fond quirk of a smile playing on her lips. Fury wanted to stab himself in the face with a fork.

"Can you two please at least wait till I'm done eating? Damn."

Three fucking years those yutz had been screwing around and they still couldn't keep it in their pants before noon or around company. Fury almost wished for the awful, awkward pining the two were doing before hand.

"Sorry sir." Coulson, who had a slight modicum of professionalism that Fury was consistently grateful for, backed away to sit on his own bar stool, ignoring Clint's annoyed whine.

"How did the conversation with Rogers go?" Coulson inquired. "Bucky seemed a bit agitated when he ran out of there like a bat out of hell. Complained all through lunch about him too."

"Well," Fury started. "If you'd been hoping they would hit it off right away and this drama would be over sooner rather than later you might want to strap yourself in for a bumpy ride."

Clint cringed, "That bad, huh?"

"You might want to pull some extra security detail to make sure he doesn't make a late night run for it."

"Noted. Well, I'm off to take a swim now that I don't have to go off dodging any bullets in some European country I can't even pronounce." Clint hopped down from the stool.

"Did you not just hear me?"

"Yea, yea. I heard you. Extra security. Late night run for it. The pool is literally right in front of his front door. Try not to get your eye-patch in a bunch. Have a little faith ya?" Fury had to remind himself that no, he really couldn't shoot Barton. Even if he was an annoying little shit.

"Come on Phil." Clint grabbed Coulson by his shirtsleeve and pulled him towards the kitchen entryway. "I found a new suit I want to see you in."

"No fucking in the pool guys! We all swim in there." Natasha shouted after them muttering curses in Russian at Clint's flippant, "Oh live a little Nat." as he dragged a red-faced Coulson out.

Oh yes. If Steve was able to help Bucky, Fury was definitely going on an extended vacation to all points nowhere far away from these people.


	4. Lotus Buds

Steve doesn't make a late night run for it, but it's a near thing.

Instead, that evening found Steve sitting by the poolside with his feet dipped in the cool water dressed in cotton shorts and faded t-shirt. Clint and Coulson had wandered inside about an hour and a half ago. It wasn't his proudest moment, sneaking occasional glances out the window to check when the coast was clear, but at this point Steve just wanted to avoid everyone for as long as possible. He contemplated hiding inside the guesthouse for the next month but the growl in his stomach quickly vetoed that option. He really needed to look into getting some food for the currently empty cupboard and fridge in his kitchen.

Steve kicked at the water, trying to come to grips with his new circumstances. Running away would be easier, but the sooner he showed he couldn't help the sooner he could probably get out of here without inciting any legal reprimand. At least he was getting paid in the meantime and would have something to show for the insanity he was living in. The growling and clenching discomfort in his stomach grew worse. Groaning, Steve stood and headed back towards the main house, determined not to get lost on the way back to the main kitchen. With any luck the occupants of the house would all be asleep by this time and he could snag something from the fridge.

The hope that thought gave him dissipated at the sight of Clint wandering the halls, dressed comfortably in black sweatpants and fitted yellow shirt with a flamboyant, colored logo Steve wasn't familiar with.

"Stevie!" Clint grinned, running over to him. Steve tried not to scowl. The man had been cordial so far and seemed ready to come to his defense earlier.

"What are you doing wandering around so late? No one's seen you since that outburst earlier. Starting to wonder if we need to send out the search parties." Outburst. That was such a mild way to put it.

"Don't worry, I'm not running." Yet. "I got a bit hungry and I didn't have any food in the guesthouse. Was just going to pop in to the kitchen and see if there weren't any leftovers I could heat up."

"Oh you don't need to do that. I'm sure Nat would be happy to make you something fresh." Clint threw his arm over Steve's shoulder and started pulling him in the direction of the kitchen.

"Oh. No. Really. I just wanted to pop in and out. No need to disturb her." Steve made an attempt to duck away from Clint's grip but he just held on tighter. Steve groaned inwardly. So much for avoiding the household.

"Nonsense. Don't tell her I said this," He spoke in a hushed whisper, "but she's kind of a mother hen. She tries to be all aloof but she's really soft and cuddly underneath." Clint shot him a conspiratorial look; as if this was privileged information that Steve should be honored to have shared with him.

Steve just nodded awkwardly, "Rigghhtt…"

"Besides." Clint winked at him. "She's already in the kitchen. It would be kind of hard to avoid her."

Sure enough, when the entered the kitchen the small red haired woman was fussing around with various plates and muttering to herself in Russian. She looked up at their entrance, a momentary hint of confusion in the furrow of her brow.

"What do you want Barton, I'm busy."

"I found the new guy wandering around like a lost puppy. Figured you could make him some treats." He pushed Steve into one of the barstools before claiming one for himself.

"Really, you don't have to." Steve shot Clint an annoyed look at the puppy comment. "I just haven't eaten anything all day and was gonna just grab some leftovers from the fridge. No fuss necessary." Steve was itching to get out of there and back to the comfortable isolation of the guesthouse.

"You need to relax Rogers. We don't bite. Well, maybe James…"Natasha shot Clint a filthy look who just grinned innocently.

"It's not a problem Steve." Natasha spoke up. "I'll make you some baked ziti. You look like you could use some comfort food. Think of it as an apology for how things went down earlier."

"Ooo. That sounds good, make me a plate too." Clint interjected, reaching for a cookie from the jar in the middle of the island.

Natasha looked like she wanted to say something but just grabbed a set of plates from the cupboard and set to work on gathering the ingredients and lighting the stove and oven.

None of them said anything for several minutes, Clint happily munching away at his swiped cookies and Natasha quickly dicing up onions. Steve started tapping on the counter in agitation. This was awkward.

"So…" Steve managed, "How did you two come to work here?" It was a question that had been weighing on him. They were both fairly young. Too young to have been in such prominent house hold positions before Steve assumed the rest of the staff had been dismissed.

"We met Buck on assignment in Iraq." Clint answered at the same time Natasha said, "Friends of the family."

" _Clint!_ " Natasha hissed out, eyes narrowed, pointing her chef knife at Clint dangerously.

"What?" Clint threw his hands up in exasperation. "He was bound to found out eventually. Might as well let him know that everyone on the grounds is a former agent of some kind now. Figure he's been lied to enough as it is for one day."

"Wait." Steve was trying to compile this new bit of intel. "ALL of you are former military? Even Coulson?" Natasha and Clint he could see, the stealthy way they moved and the way they jumped to attention when Barnes had been threatening him. Hell, Fury made complete sense. Only someone who was former agent of some sort could be such a manipulative ass. However, Coulson seemed so unassuming and unlike any military personnel he'd ever met before.

Clint snorted. "Oh definitely Coulson. Former army ranger and one of the deadliest people I've ever met. I'll have to let him know you thought he was just an average civilian. He likes to work that angle to his advantage." He looked proud, a fond smile playing on his lips. Steve should probably re examine his earlier summation of that relationship, especially after the glimpses he caught of them earlier that evening in the pool.

"We're not all former military though. Just Barnes and Coulson. Since were apparently sharing," Natasha shot Clint an annoyed look as she layered the ingredients into a pan, "Clint and I were doing work for a third party as a two man stealth team that assisted Barnes' squad on a few missions. Coulson was our handler. You make friends quick in the trenches." Natasha gave a quirked brow and shrug as if to say, 'what are you going to do.'

"Okay… but how did you guys end up working for him now? And if you all met him in Iraq, how does Fury fit into it?" Steve was quickly getting used to the idea that there was always something going on that everyone was avoiding talking about.

Natasha and Clint shot each other a speculative look, obviously trying to find a way to answer Steve's question that wouldn't reveal whatever they were all hiding.

"Fury…" Natasha paused, "Fury is Fury." Steve wanted to throw something. That wasn't an answer. Sensing his irritation, Clint jumped in, "He's our boss. He was our boss then too. We had all gotten attached to Barnes and when the enemy captured him Fury allowed us to track him down after the U.S. military gave up. Took us too long though." A dark shadow crossed his face at the memory. It was an odd look on the so far consistently grinning, sarcastic man.

Steve suddenly felt bad for bringing up such unpleasant memories. He still hadn't gotten an answer as to why they were Barnes' only staff now, but Steve opted to drop the topic. It didn't really matter anyway. They were obviously loyal to Barnes, not as an employer – and Steve was starting to speculate if that was even accurate – but as a friend they'd fought and bled with. Their bond must run deep if they'd been willing to dedicate five years of their life so far to helping him get better. Even so, Steve felt like he was staring at a nearly completed puzzle but was still missing that last key piece necessary to finish it.

He let the conversation drop back into silence; gratefully accepting the plate of food Natasha handed him several minutes later. He bit into the pasta, nearly moaning. It was amazing. Clint had a bit less decorum, openly groaning in between shoving several forkfuls of food in his mouth.

"Nat. You're an angel in black tights."

"Stop moaning at the table Clint. Save it for Phil. No one needs to see that." Clint flipped her off.

Steve's mouth quirked at the easy camaraderie between the two. He ate another mouthful of pasta, listening to Natasha and Clint banter and felt himself start to really relax for the first time since he'd arrived at the Estate. The situation was still screwed on the surface, but maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. He wasn't itching to run anymore at the very least.

* * *

Steve woke the next morning to a pounding on his front door. He twisted in the silk sheets – and by God Steve was going to splurge on a set when he got home – to glance blearily at the bedside clock. It read 5:03. Who the hell needed him this early in the morning? The sun wasn't even out yet. Steve tried to go back to sleep, whoever it was could wait till a decent hour, but the pounding just got more incessant. Cursing, Steve threw back the covers and headed downstairs. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he opened the door yelling at whoever was there. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Early enough for a run don't you think?"

Steve dropped his hand, startled and suddenly more alert. Barnes was standing at his front stoop, cool as you please as if he hadn't just been pounding out the beat to what Steve was pretty sure was Sandman – the cheeky shit - on his front door before six in the morning.

"What?"

"Running. You know. Faster than walking. You use both your legs." Barnes looked like he was about to start demonstrating.

"I know what running is." It was too damn early for this. "What I don't understand is what you're doing here before the sun's even up."

"Thanks to James we got off on the wrong foot yesterday." That was putting it mildly. "If we're going to be spending a lot of time together in the next few weeks we might as well break the ice and get some stuff out in the open. There's a spot I want to show you about a mile from here, but we need to get there before sunrise."

It seemed he was dealing with Bucky at the moment, which relaxed Steve a bit. He contemplated refusing the olive branch and retreating back to his bed and not coming out till he was awake enough to deal with people.

"I thought I wasn't allowed off the premises?"

"Oh. You're not. The spot I want to show you is on the property. Now, are you coming?"

Steve mulled it over. Bucky seemed eager and Steve had to confess, after calming down a bit from the scare the day before, he was curious about Barnes. He caved.

"Fine. Just let me get changed."

Bucky lit up. "Awesome. Oh, and Rogers?" Steve paused in closing the door to look at him curiously. "I love your bedtime look. Very minimalist." Steve glanced down. Shit. He was only wearing boxers. He shut the door quickly, face flushed. Running up the stairs he could just make out Bucky's chortle.

It was like night and day dealing with Bucky versus James.

Minutes later Bucky was leading a now dressed Steve along a man made path. Judging by how he avoided every branch and loose rock as he ran - even in the dark - Steve would guess that he'd run this path fairly often over the years. They'd been running for several minutes when they finally came across a grassy clearing with a small lake.

"Now what?" Steve was breathing heavily. He should really run more. Bucky looked as if he hadn't even broken a sweat.

"Just give it a minute. The sun should be rising soon."

Light started creeping into the clearing, exposing the several flowers on the small lake. As the sun grew higher, and the light grew brighter, the flower buds started to open and bloom. Lotus. It was a beautiful sight. Steve snuck a look at Bucky who was ignoring him in favor of crouching by the edge of the lake, reaching out to one of the budding flowers.

"My mother planted these when I was a kid. Did you know the Lotus is a sacred flower for Buddhists? Depending on the number of petals it's meant to symbolize harmony or spiritual illumination. When it's just a bud it symbolizes potential."

"It's beautiful." Steve replied, voice soft. This place obviously meant a lot to the other man. "Why are you showing it to me?"

"Because I need you to understand and I've always been a visual person. Expressing personal things has never been my strong suit." Bucky plopped onto the log next to Steve, expression serious. "After what happened in Iraq… I feel like I've been wandering in darkness. Like the bud waits each morning for the light, I've been searching for some sort of clarity about what happened to me. James and I… were two sides of the same person but broken. Fractured by whatever happened there. I keep hoping that if we can find the clarity we each need it will fix us, harmonize us, but…"

"Don't you remember?" Steve queried, interrupting Bucky's speech.

Bucky scoffed, "Not even a little bit. Which let me tell you, is worse than remembering."

"How can not remembering months of torture possibly be worse than remembering it?"

Bucky threw a twig into the water, agitated. "It's not just the torture I don't remember. Large chunks of my time as a regular soldier are gone too. My body is covered in scars and I can't remember how I got them. I can barely remember how I lost my damn arm." He glared down at the useless stub.

"I created James during the torture to protect myself and for a time it was easier that way. Not remembering and letting him take the brunt of the violent memories. Whenever the memories start bleeding in or he feels I'm over agitated he takes over before I can remember or stop him. The problem is he gets a bit… volatile." Steve could attest to that. He refrained from commenting on the violent personality and took a seat on the cold, wet, log beside Bucky. He looked so lost, unlike the smiling charming man Steve had started to associate with this side of him.

"Do you know what its like to have a fear and an instinct but no idea why you have it?" Bucky queried, staring out at the lake, fidgeting with a branch in his one hand. "For two years after I got back I couldn't go near water for fear of drowning. Taking showers were a nightmare." Bucky scoffed bitterly. "Even now I can only wade into the water up to my waist before I start to panic. We don't celebrate Fourth of July anymore cause the sound of fireworks has me hitting the floor and I _don't. know. WHY."_ Bucky's voice cracked, and the branch he had been fidgeting with crunched under his grip.

Steve didn't know what to say. He couldn't imagine how lost he must feel. Having all the damage of war with none of the memories and no reference from which to really start healing. To be unable to go into public for fear something might trigger an unknown response and James comes out swinging in defense. To be imprisoned in your own mind. It was a terrible curse.

They sat side by side for several minutes, not speaking, just watching the sunrise and listening to the sounds of nature. Steve was starting to come to grips with what a total ass he was being about Bucky's situation when the other man spoke up.

"I'm sorry by the way." Steve startled.

"For what? James? I know I've been freaking out a bit, but after what I've been told in the last twenty-four hours I'm not even sure if I can really blame him. Still not eager for a repeat encounter but I can understand his logic. I think."

Bucky smiled at him with a toothy grin, dark blue eyes softening, "You're sweet Rogers. I can see why Fury picked you. You're a good guy to have stuck around." Steve wanted to protest that he was only there and hadn't made a run for it because Fury had practically black mailed him, but a small part of him was starting to want to stay. Not just for the story either. He just wasn't sure what for.

"I'm still sorry though. Fury probably didn't fill you on my condition and baited you with a big exclusive tell all story about the 'Prince of New York.'" Bucky actually made air quotes. "Finally, he dropped the bomb on you that you're supposed to use your 'journalism savvy' to interview me and James and create a record to help me remember so I can fix what's wrong with me."

"I'm not a therapist." Steve felt like he'd had to remind people of this a lot more than strictly necessary.

"Oh I know. And thank God." Bucky actually looked relieved not to be dealing with a therapist.

"Fury mentioned your aversion to therapists."

"Let's just say there were attempts made to bring in therapists and they were all a total bust."

"Why?"

"James." As if that was the answer to everything going wrong with his life. Which, Steve considered, it just might be.

"James hates therapists. He doesn't like how they poke around in your head. I can only assume there was a great deal of that during my six months of torture."

"So Fury called in a journalist? We don't exactly have a reputation for not exploiting a story." This is the thing that kept bugging Steve about the whole assignment.

Bucky gave out a sharp bark of laughter. "You weren't hired just because you were a journalist. Fury told me there were things in your background that indicated you were trustworthy and were too noble to exploit my situation or run away from someone in need." Steve pointedly didn't mention that he'd almost done exactly that. It probably wouldn't help the situation. "The fact that you're a writer is honestly just a plus and a reason to draw you in."

"That. That is just manipulative and crazy."

Bucky shrugged. "That's Fury. He's really not above manipulation and we were running out of options."

Steve considered this. "Hey, Bucky? What exactly did Fury tell you about my history?"

Bucky thought it over. "Not much… basically just what I already told you. He said you were trustworthy so that was good enough for me."

"You trust him that much? Even when you just said he's manipulative?"

"Of course." Bucky gave him a look as though that should have been obvious. "He's one of the few good guys I know."

Steve could debate that.

Bucky stood, wiping the leaves off the back of his baggy red sweatpants. "Alright, enough of this melodrama Rogers. We should probably head back. I'm starting to get hungry."

The sun had completely risen while they'd been talking. The soft morning light highlighted the undertones of Bucky's dark hair. Rather than running, the two walked back along the path in companionable silence. Bucky seemed to be mulling something over in his mind, full lips quirked in a thoughtful frown.

When they reached the glass doors heading into the main house Bucky paused and shot Steve a speculative look.

"Hey. You're a writer Steve. Tell me. What's gonna be story? What tale are you gonna spin about the fractured James Buchanan Barnes? Is he the soldier, the monster? Or the weak prince that couldn't take care of himself?"

It was a heavy question, but there was no good way to answer that question directly so Steve tried for an indirect response. "Your story will be whatever you want it to be." It was a cop out answer but it was still true. He'd long since given up hope for happy endings himself, but since he was going to be sticking around for awhile Steve made the resolution to help this man find a happy ending to his story. How ever long it took.


	5. Family Doesn't End in Blood

Steve isn't sure when he stopped freaking out about being a veritable prisoner in an East Hampton estate. Doodling by the lotus covered lake, Steve wished he could call Sam and talk to him about what life was like at the estate and how a promising job offer had gone so sideways. He wanted someone other than Clint and Nat to talk to about how worried he was sometimes about Bucky. Sometimes Steve would stare out the window to see Barnes standing still at the edge of the pool and would watch as he slowly inched into the pool to his chest before bolting out of the pool, crouched low and breathing heavily, muttering to himself while clenching his head.

He recalled Sam's parting words about not acting like a 'snippy bitch' if Barnes had turned out to be crazy, which Steve had totally failed at during their first meeting.

Not that Barnes was crazy, not really. Steve may have thought it to himself multiple times during the first few days but after seeing the conflict in Barnes as he tried to control each side of himself, Steve could only see a man of strength trying to overcome the results of unspeakable horrors. Steve could see glimpses of the old charming, seductive 'prince of New York' Bucky once was behind his current front of charm and bravado but mostly Steve caught how his smile never quite reached his eyes, laugh always just a little too forced, and the lost look in his eyes every time Bucky thought nobody was looking.

After that first conversation in the woods Bucky had joined Steve, Nat, and Clint for breakfast. Fury had been off doing who knows what with Coulson. Steve had felt like an outsider watching the three of them have unspoken conversations with simple glances and eyebrow rises over bacon and eggs. The familiarity left Steve wishing for Sam, who had been like his brother since they were teenagers. Every so often Natasha and Bucky would start taking to each other in Russian, much to Clint's annoyance. Clint accused Bucky and Natasha of talking crap about him – which, Bucky told Steve later, they absolutely had been. Barnes' mother had apparently been Russian and had taught him the language before she died. When he met Nat in the trenches they had bonded over it and used it to jibe Clint when he was being irritating. Now it had become a long-standing joke.

Breakfast had turned into an impromptu poker tournament with Oreo's instead of money – Clint's idea - where Steve got a first hand look at just how scary good Natasha's poker face was. Clint and Bucky were no slouches, but Natasha was on another level. He could never get a read on her the entire game. Every time Steve rose, she just raised him back, rarely glancing down at her cards. Nearly every time he folded she would smirk and reveal a useless hand. After a few rounds, Steve begged off to shower and spent the day reading and occasionally taking halfhearted notes by the poolside. Days passed in much the same way, Steve waking for breakfast with the others before wasting the day holed up with books or doodling in the notepad he was meant to be taking notes on. Clint would always join him around lunchtime – sometimes with Coulson trailing behind him - sandwiches in hand. Steve rarely saw Fury and Natasha in the last few days. When he asked Clint, he just told him that they had pressing work that they had to deal with.

Occasionally, Bucky would come by to show him around the property, claiming it was nice to have a new guy around. The two would talk about nothing and everything from exchanging stories about friends to debates about books – Bucky, Steve had been endlessly amused to discover, had a secret love the Stookie Stackhouse books. "At least its not Twilight!" Bucky had defended. They would wander and talk until Bucky started getting a pinched look on his face and Steve knew they should head back. They had become friends of a sort, and bonded a lot quicker than Steve remembered bonding with anyone.

Technically he had still been hired to write a book, but Steve was having a hard time deciding if that was still what he wanted. It felt exploitative to write about what was going on in Bucky's head and so far Steve hadn't tried to press him for information. However, Fury had also hired him to help Bucky and James, but Steve didn't know the first thing about how to get around to that even though he found himself wishing to be useful in helping Buck.

James had made a couple appearances – if you could call them that. Steve had noticed James watching him from the second floor terrace every so often when Steve was doodling outside. Steve could recognize the subtle difference in how James held himself, tight and alert – ready to pounce. It was a bit unnerving at first, but he had quickly grown used to it. Nat had explained over a late night drink on the porch that James was trying to figure him out, decide if he was a threat. So, whenever he felt that stare on him Steve would wave kindly in acknowledgment and hold a beer up in offering, but he never came down. Steve was working up to going up and talking to the guy but Steve was still wary about being in close quarters with the volatile personality.

He had settled into a routine in the past couple of weeks, but that routine was starting to grate on Steve's nerves. When Coulson had gone to town to finally pick up some groceries for Steve and run a couple of errands Steve had nearly begged to go into town with him, but was gently reminded that he wasn't supposed to leave. The tension in the air, and the expectations everyone had of him to help Barnes was driving Steve over the edge and he wished for something to happen to break up the routine and push this whole process along.

* * *

Steve threw himself back on to the grass, groaning in agitation. The sun was starting to go down and his stomach was growling. Clint was probably wondering where he'd run off to, having missed their daily lunch date. It was such a little thing, but even that break in routine left Steve feeling weirdly better for a couple hours. Even so, he was starving and should probably head back before they thought he had made a run for it and came looking for him.

The walk back was quick and familiar, but as the estate grew into view, something seemed different. Growing closer he noticed that for once everyone was hanging around on the back deck with a man Steve didn't recognize. Odd. According to all the stories no one was ever allowed on the property that didn't work there.

"Yo, Stevie!" Clint, who was manning an outdoor grill, waved him over. "We were just about to send out the search party. How do you like your steak?"

Everyone was here for once. Even Fury made an attempt at casual and relaxed in black jeans and shirt, sitting with his legs stretched out along the porch swing. However, the image was ruined as Fury kept checking his watch and phone as if there was a pressing appointment he needed to keep.

"Um. Medium." Steve dropped his notebook on the table, grabbing the empty chair between Natasha – who was dressed casually in jean shorts and blue tank – and Bucky – who looked tired but handsome in a short sleeved, dark-blue button up - which highlighted his blue eyes quite nicely - over a V-neck black t-shirt and dark wash jeans. His dark hair had grown a bit in the past couple weeks and looked artfully messy. What struck Steve was how relaxed he seemed. Bucky was glancing fondly at the man Steve didn't recognize as the man and Clint bickered over the right way to make steaks. It was one of the few times Bucky had seemed truly happy since Steve had been there. Steve felt oddly jealous and protective. He pushed that feeling away quickly, unsure where the sudden impulse had come from.

"Who is the new guy?" Steve whispered softly to Natasha.

"Tony Stark."

" _The_ Tony Stark!" Steve did a double take and stared at the older man. He couldn't believe he hadn't recognized him. He was in the news or on a magazine cover practically every other day. CEO of Stark Enterprises, Stark was a wealthy and prominent figure in New York. Primarily a tech company, Stark Enterprises had been prominent in the weapons market until recent years where they had begun to branch out into new fields. His more… salacious evening activities are what drew so much media attention. The other week a couple guys at the bar had been going on about his latest activities involving a couple maxim models, a sheep, and an umbrella. Steve hadn't bothered to ask for details, he wasn't sure if knowing would be better than whatever he'd been imagining.

Nat smirked. "You're drooling a little you know." She lifted her hand to brush away imaginary drool. Steve gave her a flat look.

"I'm just surprised." He tried not to sound indignant. "I wasn't expecting someone like him to show up. Besides I thought you guys never had visitors." There sure hadn't been any since he'd arrived.

"Tony likes to drop in every now and again and cause mayhem. Clint always bitches about the _ridiculous changes_ to the security system every time he sneaks in." Nat spoke pointedly in Tony's direction.

"Oh please firefly." Tony waved off the comment, handing a plate of food to a still agitated Fury. "My upgrades are works of art. Besides, if you didn't want the system upgraded you shouldn't make it so easy to break in… OW! Hey watch where you're poking that thing feathers." Clint blinked innocently at Tony, who was rubbing at his side and glaring at Clint.

Nat shook her head at them. Before she could respond the faint sound of Coulson's phone going off sounded. He fumbled with the beer he'd been nursing in his haste to answer the device. Fury perked up in interest, from his perch. Coulson stood and moved over to the door as he answered with a curt, 'This is Phil', and nodding every so often at whatever the person on the other end was saying. Natasha and Clint eyed him in what they probably thought was discreet, while carrying on mindless banter over the security system. It was one of those moments where Steve was sure he was missing something important.

Tony plopped into the seat across from Steve. "We haven't been properly introduced. Names Tony Stark. You may know who I am. Here, have a drink." A bottle of beer was thrust under Steve's nose. He gaped awkwardly at the bottle that Tony was holding out expectantly. Barely managing an "Oh. Thank you, Mr. Stark. It's an honor to meet you, sir." Steve took the offered alcohol, mentally smacking himself for being so awkward. He took a long pull of the bitter liquid, trying to come up with a more coherent response. It was something about the aura this guy gave off. Steve found himself flustered and second-guessing every grooming decision he'd ever made. Which was ironic when Stark was wearing a worn shirt and jeans and sporting a goatee that needed trimming.

Tony's eyebrows rose at the greeting. "Well aren't you polite. Call me Tony, seriously. The whole 'mr.' thing makes me feel so..." Tony waved his hand, face scrunched up in thought searching for an appropriate word, "old." Tony decided. "Yes. It makes me feel very, very old. You wouldn't want to call me an old man now would you?" Tony's face was playfully stern. Bucky just watched their exchange with amusement, absently pulling on a loose tablecloth thread. He hadn't said anything since Steve sat down.

Steve shook his head, floundering. "No! No. Of course not Mr. Sta… I mean Tony, sir." Where was the closest bridge he could throw himself off? Nat looked at him amused, wiping imaginary drool from her face. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with him? He didn't react like this when he met Bucky and they – Bucky and Tony - were equally rich and powerful individuals. Meeting Bucky and interacting with him and been calming and comfortable, after the unfortunate initial incident.

Tony chuckled, taking a drink from a wine glass. "Calm your tits, kid. I'll get you an autograph later." Steve flushed.

Fortunately at that moment, Phil had finally hung up and interjected the awkward encounter. "Tasha. You, me and Fury are needed to go take care of some stuff." Phil straightened out his shirt, pulling on a professional persona. Wordlessly, Nat downed the rest of her beer and ran inside after Fury, who had slunk away in the background.

Clint frowned a bit at Phil. "I thought tonight was supposed to be everyone's night off? Just have some steaks and beer and hang out. Maybe get uptight Rogers drunk and record it for posterity." Steve choked on his beer at that. He flipped Clint off, who ignored him, still staring Phil down with an irritated grimace. Coulson gave a frustrated sigh, placing his hands on Clint's hips and pulling him in. "Come here, babe." Clint's hands clasped at Phil's back. Coulson murmured something into Clint's ear. Steve couldn't hear the conversation but Clint's expression softened. Clint nodded slightly, brushing a small kiss under Phil's ear before taking a step back and letting him go. He still didn't look pleased. Phil reached out to touch Clint's face, but Clint backed away, crossing his arms over his chest. Normally quick witted and sarcastic, Clint just looked distressed and resigned. Phil let his hand drop down to his side. He looked to the door and back to Clint a few times. In the end he made his way back inside.

It was quite for several moments. Steve wasn't sure if he should do something. He and Clint had become friends in the last couple weeks, but he wasn't entirely sure _what_ had just transpired.

"I think I'm gonna call it a night guys." Clint shut off the grill, shooting them all a grim smile.

"You sure?" Bucky inquired.

"Yea…I'll see you guys tomorrow. Rogers, don't forget lunch." He grabbed the bottle of wine Tony had been drinking from and made for the door, ignoring the indignant squawking from Tony.

Tony, Steve, and Bucky looked awkwardly at each other for several moments. Eventually, Tony shrugged. "More for us." He got up to do… something with the food.

"What just happened? He gonna be okay?" Steve muttered to Bucky.

"Yea... he'll be fine. This happens sometimes." Bucky looked mostly unconcerned. Steve waited for some sort of explanation but none was forthcoming. Guess tonight wouldn't be the night he figured out why everyone kept disappearing.

"Come on guys. Enough moping. It's supposed to be a party. Here's your steak Jamie. All cut up and everything." He set a plate down in front of Bucky with a flourish and teasing grin.

"Ugh, please don't call me that. Also, I'm not five. You don't need to cut up my food for me."

"Please. You're my favorite non – blood related nephew. It is an uncles' right to call their nephews by terrible names and treat them like children."

"I'm your only nephew, blood relation or not. Also, if you always take children to see and do the kind of stuff you took me out for, I should tell you I feel obliged to report you." The tension eased as Bucky and Tony fell into banter, Steve interjecting with his own commentary every so often.

"Tony's practically family." Bucky told Steve while Tony was inside grabbing some wine – "feathers owes me a new bottle. That shit ain't cheap." Bucky's tone is fond as he spears a chunk of meat with a fork. "My father and him worked on a few projects together when I was a kid and Tony was about 25 and just taken over Stark Enterprises." It was the first time they'd talked about family together. Despite the two of them bonding, Bucky had always remained closed off and aloof about certain topics that he held close. Steve felt like he was finally being trusted enough to peak behind the curtain and wasn't sure what to do with that trust.

"Tony never treated me like a kid. Though, to be honest, when he and my father weren't coming up with crazy new ideas I'm pretty sure he only hung around our house at first in order to hook up with my nanny." Bucky grinned openly at the memory. "Pepper was great. She didn't fall over her feet for him. Still won't in fact. She gives him a good run for his money. They would actually be pretty great together, but Tony has too much of a reputation and refuses to settle down." Steve was very familiar with that reputation.

"Where is Pepper now? Did you not want her to stay with you?"

Bucky considered the question. "I did, but I didn't want her to see me like this. The others… they've seen their fair share of things but Pepper… after my mother died she was the closest thing I had."

"You didn't want her to watch you fall apart." Steve could understand that.

Bucky barked out a sardonic laugh and took a long pull of beer. "That's one way to put it. It's all right though. She's brilliant. Pep would sometimes act as my father's PA and got to know the company better than anyone. She's running it for me right now until I get better." The _if_ I get better went unsaid.

"You still miss her though, don't you?"

Bucky didn't answer the question. Instead he asked, "Am I terrible for not letting her see me for the last five years and leaving her to run my company?"

"No." Steve's answer was immediate. Bucky didn't look convinced.

"Look… my dad.." Steve paused, unsure where to start. He hadn't talked about his parents in years to anyone that wasn't Sam, but when he looked at the pain in Bucky's eyes he just wanted to comfort him. Besides, if he wanted Bucky to be open with him he should try to be open with Bucky.

"My father was a captain in the army. I used to think I'd grow up and just be like him. I'd tell him that I would become a captain and single handedly save America. He always laughed and would call me his little 'Captain America.' He told me that if I was going to single handedly save America I needed an appropriate rank and title." Steve avoided Bucky's gaze, tears prickling at the corner of his eye. He hadn't thought about that name in years, or about where it had really come from. Fury had threatened him with that title because of its use in his more… lawless past that he was currently suppressing all memory of, but Fury had no clue where the name had come from.

"Stevie…" Steve felt a warm hand grasp his, stopping him from his mindless ripping apart of his paper napkin.

"Steve you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to." Bucky's face was closer now than it was before. He was chewing his bottom lip the way he did when he was nervous or worried. Steve found it slightly endearing oddly enough.

"No… just… I have a point I swear. Just let me get this out okay?" He took a deep breath, reclaiming control of his emotions.

"Okay." Bucky watched him with rapt attention, never letting go of his hands.

"My point is, before he left for his last tour he was just like every other dad who loved his wife and kid, and I wanted nothing more than to be him. After that last tour… he was different. For months he suffered from PTSD, guilt and depression. I was just a kid and I didn't know what to do or how to help him. My mother tried but she just fell apart emotionally from the stress. Then one day when I was 12 I came home from school to cops at our front door and an ambulance in the driveway…" Steve swallowed harshly. This was the hard part. "I came home and found my mother crying at the dining table with officers questioning her. My father had shot himself while my mother was at the store. She'd only left him alone for maybe 20 minutes."

Bucky gasped, wide eyed, clenching Steve's hands tighter. "I never… You never…"

"Nobody knows except for my best friend Sam and a few kids I ran around with as a teenager. Look. I'm not telling you this to get you to feel sorry for me." That was the last thing he wanted. "I'm telling you because I get it. I get why you don't want Pepper here and why the only people you've let close to you the past five years are all military. Its heartbreaking to watch someone you love suffer like that. However, Nat and the rest also understand what you saw probably better than anyone. I'm also telling you this because I need you to understand how strong you are."

Bucky flinched. He sunk back into his chair, running the hand that had been grasping Steve's through his hair roughly.

"I'm not strong. If I'd been strong I wouldn't have James. I would be able to go outside without stressing out over whether or not something will set me off."

"You have James because you're strong and you did what you had to in order to protect yourself." Bucky scoffed and tried to stand. Steve pushed him down, hand gripping the other man's knee. "No, you are. I've only been here a few weeks and I'm blown away by your strength in the face of everything you've been through. My father lost his fight within two years but you… you keep going.."

"That's cause I don't remember anything! Or have you forgotten that bit." Bucky snapped. He was breathing heavily, eyes clenched shut and hand pinching his nose in the way he did when he was trying to keep James out.

"You're right." Steve tried to remain calm despite the emotional roller coaster he was on. The things he was finding himself willing to go through for this man. "You don't remember, but why does that mean you aren't strong? You told me yourself you're trying to deal with all the PTSD and depression and … _mess_ that comes from what you've been through without any of the memories to sort it all out. I believe if you let the memories in and if you let James give up his role of protector and let it all in you're strong enough to handle it. To win the fight for real."

Bucky looked like he was trying not to cry. It broke something in Steve to see him like this. He'd been so happy and relaxed earlier for once and now Steve had ruined it.

"I believe in you Bucky. Your friends believe in you. We all just want you to get better." He spoke in a soothing voice, trying to ease the other man's anxiety.

"You just want your damn story!" Bucky yelled, shoving Steve's hand off of his knee and pacing up and down the deck. "As long as you get the details of what happened to me what the _fuck_ do you care about what happens to me? This is my _life_ Rogers. I don't need your false pity, sob stories or grand speeches."

Steve felt like he'd been slapped. He breathed deeply and tried to remind himself that Bucky was just lashing out to protect himself. It didn't mean the accusations hurt any less.

Steve glared at him darkly. "Don't you _dare_. Don't you dare accuse me of being such a shallow _ass._ I'm trying to be open with you here Barnes. I get that this sucks but we are all trying to help. Believe it or not I do actually care what happens to you."

"Why?" The word was strangled. Bucky braced himself against one of the pillars, wiping a stray tear from his eye. "Fury practically kidnapped you, James attacked you, I'm chock full of issues. You should _hate_ me."

Steve spent a moment wondering where Tony was and at the same time being grateful that he hadn't made an appearance. He didn't want an audience for this conversation. "I probably should." Steve conceded. Bucky flinched. "I don't though. You're right that this whole situation is screwy and it might be a weird bit of Stockholm syndrome but I care about everyone here. Maybe not Fury but he's an ass." He added the last part as a bit of a joke to try and lighten the mood. Bucky snorted, so he counts it as a win. He debated saying the next bit.

"I especially care about you Bucky. I _want_ to help you. You could fire me right now, tell me there was no story, and I would still want to stick around because you've somehow managed to become my friend and someone I really, _really_ care about and trust." He cared a lot more than he really should all things considered.

"I don't know how to believe you." Bucky looked shattered and exposed. Steve was amazed that James hadn't made an appearance at this point, but was grateful. He wanted this to get through to Bucky.

Steve stood and approached Bucky warily. He put his hands on Bucky's cheeks and forced him to look up at him. "Do you trust me?"

Bucky didn't answer him for a long time. Steve was giving up any hope of Bucky answering him when he heard a quiet "Yes." It was one little, quietly spoken word but it was the sweetest thing he'd heard in a long time. He let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He smiled softly at Bucky, who was looking at him oddly; as if he was almost unsure of what he was looking at. "Good. Then trust me to be here for you. Trust me when I tell you that you can beat this." Steve brushed a loose strand of hair behind Bucky's ear. Bucky gave him a soft smile, hand grabbing Steve's wrist, thumb rubbing along the inside. They stood there for several minutes, just looking at each other. Each emotionally exposed.

It was Bucky that broke the silence. "Ugh. This is a depressing turn of discussion." He pushed away from the pillar, turning his back to Steve to recollect himself. Steve gave a forced laugh. "I know. The night started with so much promise too." Ugh. Steve rubbed his face with his hands. It was probably a good time to change the subject. He sat back down at his chair, food forgotten and getting cold. "So… tell me more about Tony. Why is he here?"

Bucky collected himself and reclaimed his seat next to Steve. The refrained from touching one another, each trying to pretend some sense of normality.

"Tony comes by every so often to see me. He would have been here a couple weeks ago but he got caught up with work." Bucky and Steve had spent a decent amount of time together the past few weeks but Bucky had never once mentioned that he knew the other man. Hell, to be fair, until tonight neither Bucky nor Steve had said much of anything about their families.

Almost on cue, Tony piped up. "Oh! Which reminds me." Tony was standing by the door, holding a new bottle of wine, expression bright and jittering excitedly like a kid on Christmas. The expression seemed over exuberant. Steve wondered how much of the conversation he had actually witnessed. "I have a new prototype for you to try out. I think I _finally_ got the neural network glitches figured out."

Bucky's hand reached up towards his left side absentmindedly only to curl in on himself slightly when he grasped at nothing but the air where his left arm should be. A brief shadow crossed Bucky's face and he shot Tony a dubious look. Yet another topic that Bucky had explicitly avoided in all their conversations was the lack of arm and the additional lack of a prosthetic. There had been an incident last week when Bucky tried to prove to Steve that yes, he did actually know how to cook. No, having a cook his entire life did not mean he was inept. Yet, Steve could see he was struggling trying to do things one handed and any time he tried to help Bucky would just get frustrated.

The breaking point had been when Bucky had been trying to mix things in a pan over the stove and the pan kept budging away from him with every stroke. Steve had tried to hold the handle for him but Bucky kept swatting his hand away, determined to do it himself. Eventually, the pan knocked over, food falling over Bucky and the floor. Steve, being an idiot, kept trying to help and assure Bucky that everything was okay. It had been the first time he'd seen Bucky get really angry without James coming out.

Across the table, Tony's face softened a bit, loosing his jittery excitement. "Hey, kid. I promise it'll be better than last time. You might even be able to play again." Tony sounded hopeful but Bucky didn't look like he believed him. Play? Steve wondered. Play what?

"No amount of fancy tech is ever going to make that happen again, Tony. We both know that." Bucky replied bitterly. Steve refrained from the instinct to place a comforting hand on Bucky's back.

Tony sighed. "You're never going to know unless you try. You keep rejecting every prosthetic I bring in. I really think you should give this one a shot Jamie. It might not give you everything you want but it's a start."

Bucky scowled. "I can get along just fine with one arm."

"We know, but you don't have to." Steve interjected. Bucky considered him for a moment.

"Fine." Tony looked surprised at the easy answer. He'd probably been expecting a longer fight over this. Taking advantage of the concession he started stammering on about technology, time frames, physical therapy and a slew of things that Steve wasn't sure was actually English.

"I have everything set up in the house if you want to start now." Tony was moving quickly, clearing the table of food and plates. He must want to move as quickly as possible before Bucky changed his mind.

"Yea. Sure. Why not." Bucky shrugged. He looked carefully aloof, trying to hide his anxiety. Steve frowned. Bucky should really rest.

"Awesome." Tony ran back inside before Steve could interject, arms full of plates muttering to himself about schematics.

"Are you sure you're up for this? Do you want me to come in with you guys?" Steve queried. Bucky was trying to hide it but he was emotionally spent. Dealing with the prosthetic couldn't be good for him right now.

"No. No. It's fine. Besides, it's a bit of a gross process and my arm doesn't look too great. You don't want to watch that." Bucky tried to wave Steve off, acting like he wasn't obviously self-conscious at the idea of Steve seeing his arm.

Steve frowned. "It'd be fine really. You wouldn't gross me out."

"You're sweet Rogers, but I'll manage." Bucky smiled falsely. He was closing himself off again. Understandable after the turn the evening took.

Steve was surprised when Bucky moved to embrace him. Throwing his arm around the Steve's shoulders, large hand landing on the curve between his neck and shoulder, Bucky leaned in to speak into Steve's ear. He looked at the other man out of the corner of his eye, not quite turning his head. Bucky's warm breath tickled his cheek and Steve found himself wanting to lean into the casual embrace. These desires had been a recently occurring development and it really needed to stop.

"Thank you… for being here for me. I'm really glad you're here Stevie. Now…" Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm gonna go run and do this thing real quick but there's something I want to show you when we're done. Would have done it earlier today but you'd run off. Meet you at your place in a few hours?" Steve's throat was dry, skin tingling. He didn't trust himself to speak and simply nodded.

"Great!" Bucky's eyes sparkled in genuine pleasure, erasing the dark look that had been there at the prospect of yet another prosthetic and their earlier discussion. Had his eyes always been that shade of blue? Bucky's hand absentmindedly stroked Steve's neck before he stood and ran inside after Tony. Steve allowed himself a moment to process before he tried to head back to the guest home.

This crush he was developing on Bucky was not good. Never mind that Bucky was technically his boss. Forget even that he'd only known the guy for a few weeks. Bucky didn't even know his own mind at the moment. Not really. Besides, Steve was only getting part of Bucky right now. It felt somehow wrong for him to be getting attached to a fragment of a man. He wanted to know the whole of him. Yet, despite all of that he meant what he'd said. Bucky was a strong man who was quickly becoming very important to Steve. The prospect of a genuine smile or being responsible for a moment of Bucky being happy and fond the way Tony had made him was something Steve found himself desperate for. He dropped his head into his hands, groaning. He was _so_ screwed. Well... at least he didn't have to worry about a monotonous schedule anymore.


End file.
